


Give It Up For Family

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Marks [8]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Love Springs Forth Part Three, love in full bloom. <i>All the second and third and fourth times and more :) Building a relationship, deepening love, learning to be in a relationship with each other. Perhaps telling others about being together, making things public, maybe moving in together. Committing to each other for real, and overcoming any last doubts that may exist.</i> </p><p>Tag to The Return Parts 1 and 2, in which the Expedition returns to Earth, and the Pegasus Matches spend time with family, and old secrets come to light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give It Up For Family

Expedition members who still had homes of one variety or another in Colorado Springs were processed through the infirmary first and sent to admin to pick up their keys and driver’s licenses and other necessities so they could go home. (Home was a misnomer. Atlantis was home. Those box-like, sterile apartments couldn’t possibly be home.) The second- and third-wave expedition members who still had friends in the SGC and in town found couches to crash on. Everyone else was assigned quarters on base, which meant doubling up and getting pretty cramped.   
  
“We might as well party it up with our comrades before they scatter us to the four winds,” John said, grinning. (His grin was insincere, Rodney could feel it, knew John missed Atlantis like he’d miss an amputated limb, because she’d kept him company, and now she was _gone._ ) The Marines, who adored their commanding officer, cheered when they saw him.  
  
Rodney stared at the barracks to which they’d been assigned, at how Marines were in every single bunk top and bottom but one, and wanted to cry. He was exhausted, he was frustrated, and inexplicably he missed Teyla.   
  
“Hey, they didn’t assign you with the rest of the scientists?”  
  
Rodney turned, and there was Evan, Ronon right behind him.  
  
“No,” Rodney said flatly. “Apparently we’re staying here.”  
  
“You can crash at my place if you want,” Evan said. “Still have one. There’s a spare room and a pretty comfy couch.”  
  
John frowned. “What are you still doing on base?”  
  
“Me,” Ronon said. “I’m an alien. Lots of paperwork before I can pretend to be an Earther. I think I can blend in.”  
  
“We’ll get you some Earth clothes,” Evan said. He looked Ronon up and down, smiled faintly. “Nothing I have will fit you, though.”  
  
“Please,” Rodney said. “I need to get out of this place.” If he could get out of the base, get somewhere far away, he could pretend he was home on leave, that this was just going to be a fun time, that he hadn’t been torn from the place he thought of as home, that he wasn’t risking being re-assigned without John.   
  
Behind John, the Marines made disappointed sounds, but John caught Rodney’s gaze and said, “Sure, Major. Thanks for the invite.”  
  
Evan nodded. “C’mon. I think my car’s still in the motor pool.”   
  
Heads turned as they passed. There were some whispers about Atlantis, about _kicked out by the Ancients_. But more of the whispers were _Rare Mark_ and _a Match with an alien_. Evan didn’t seem to care, smiling and waving at his friends from his days on SG-11, but Ronon glared at anyone whose gaze lingered too long. Mark Matches didn’t have to be reported – that was no business of the military’s. People could register a Match, which was as legally binding as a marriage in some places. And medical always wanted to know about Marks and Matches, because there were documented physiological reactions to Matches, Unmatched pairs, and the dissolution of a Match. But the discovery of a Match didn't need to be turned over to the military.   
  
Apart from the people who’d witnessed Cadman and Rodney’s rescue from the malfunctioning Wraith dart, no one knew Rodney and John were a Match. Given the nature of John’s Mark, John had insisted that Carson keep that information under wraps, and given John’s fierce protection of his own privacy, everyone else who’d been present at the moment Rodney was rematerialized had dutifully said nothing about the matter.  
  
John was technically Unmarked. Carson had done a lot of covert research, with John’s help, and discovered that John was a genetic and legal aberration, that the law treated him as some kind of thief, like the gold-diggers who altered their Marks to trick wealthy men into registering with them as a Match. The medical community had terrible misinformation about the Unmarked, too, and Carson hadn’t gotten two sentences into his explanation of what he’d found before John’s expression went terribly blank and he said, “I’ve heard it all, and it’s crap.”  
  
John explained that Chaya, the Ancient woman he’d gone on one date with (“You went on a date with her?” “You were sleeping with Kusanagi!”), had had a Mark that functioned more like his, that she had her own, but it would shift to form a shared Mark with whoever she was in love with at any given time. Helia had kicked them out of the city before Carson could inquire further about how Ancient Marks worked.  
  
Carson was convinced that Rare Marks were related to the ATA gene, and even though some people had no ATA gene, their Mark type affected whether or not the gene therapy took. Rodney figured no one knew John was Unmarked. They could register as a Match if they wanted. Carson had altered John’s medical form so his Mark was listed as the same type as Rodney’s. Maybe that way they could stay together. Rodney knew the SGC would want to send him to Area 51. He could ask to have John assigned as his human light switch, but John would be bored out of his mind.   
  
There was already talk of shuffling the Atlantis military personnel into existing or new gate teams. Most of the scientists had other opportunities they wanted to pursue, but there was no way Rodney was leaving the SGC. If he was listed as a Match for John, they couldn't be on the same team. Elizabeth had let them get away with it because John was able to prove that even though he’d been in love with Rodney since the beginning of the expedition, his emotions hadn't clouded his judgment. After that, she’d authorized Ronon and Evan to be on the same gate team if they so chose, but Evan and John agreed that having the CSO, military commander, and 2IC on one team was dangerous and also a waste of resources, as Evan was a capable commander. Rodney wasn’t sure what Evan said to Ronon, but he agreed to join John’s gate team.  
  
Evan’s car was a boring, responsible sedan, dark green. It started right up – apparently the motor pool minions took it for a spin regularly to make sure the engine didn’t die. John and Evan spent the entire car ride trying to answer Ronon’s questions – about the traffic lights, other cars, the various shops they passed. Evan’s apartment was in the same building as a lot of other base personnel, and they weren’t the only ones in uniforms who were unloading their duffel bags and single shoe boxes of personal items (the rest of it would be delivered via the _Daedalus_ in three weeks).  
  
Evan led them into the building and up the elevator (much slower than the transporters, which Rodney also missed fiercely) to his apartment, 302, and then had to pause and fumble in his pocket for the keys. He finally got the door unlocked, pushed it open.  
  
“Welcome,” he began, stepping into the foyer, and came up short. “Mom?”  
  
Rodney, who could think of nothing but somewhere to lie down as soon as the door was open, froze.  
  
“Evan?” a woman said.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Evan asked.  
  
Rodney pushed the door open wider in time to see a woman (same dark hair and blue eyes as Evan) pull him into a hug. An elderly woman, a younger woman, and two kids were sitting in front of the television.  
  
“You gave me your spare key, remember?” the woman said. She pulled back, cupped his face in her hands and looked him over. “Said we could use it any time. What are _you_ doing here? You were home on leave just a few months ago. You said you only got leave once a year.”  
  
Evan blinked dazedly. “There was a – diplomatic incident at the base where we were stationed, and the post was shut down unexpectedly. They sent us all home. We’re all on stand-down for a few days while they decide what to do with us.”  
  
Evan was a frighteningly good liar. Rodney wondered if that was something else he’d learned in Major School.  
  
“Are these your Air Force friends?” Evan’s mother asked.  
  
“Oh, sorry. We’re all kinda jet-lagged. Mom, this is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, my CO. Dr. Rodney McKay, the chief science officer. And Ronon Dex, a civilian contractor. Guys, this is my mother, Roberta Lorne.”  
  
“Please, call me Bobbie.” She beamed at them, shook John’s hand. “Thank you for looking out for my baby boy.”  
  
“Major Lorne’s a fine soldier and an excellent second-in-command, ma’am,” John said, and the expression in his eyes was opaque. Rodney’s parents were both dead, and he knew John’s mother had died when he was a teenager, but John spoke of his family less than Rodney did.  
  
“Second-in-command? Sweetie, that’s great.” Bobbie pressed a kiss to Evan’s cheek. He was blushing. “Dr. McKay? Are you also a soldier?”  
  
“Ah, no.” Rodney shook her hand. “It was a joint expedition, civilian and military. I’m Canadian.”  
  
“Canada is so lovely,” Bobbie said. “Ronon, is it?” She offered him a hand.  
  
Ronon reacted an instant too late, because handshaking was not the way of the Pegasus Galaxy, and then Bobbie’s eyes went wide. She slapped Evan on the arm.  
  
“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend!”  
  
Evan winced. “Can we not do this in the hallway? At least let us put our stuff down. It’s been a rough couple of days, Mom.”  
  
“Oh, of course.” Bobbie stepped back and let them into the apartment. She called to the people on the couch, “Nana, Tally, Mikey, Gabby, come meet Evan’s new boyfriend!”  
  
“Go put your stuff in the spare bedroom for now,” Evan said, nodding toward a hallway that branched off from the kitchen/den. “Last door on the left. Bathroom’s on the right.”  
  
John grabbed Ronon and Evan’s bags. “I got this. You say hi to the family.” He smirked at Ronon, who glared in response.  
  
Rodney fled to the bedroom.  
  
The room was probably ordinarily military-neat, but it had clearly been taken over by Evan’s family. There were bags and clothes and shoes everywhere. Rodney put his duffel bag down on an empty patch of carpet next to the closet, and John stacked the others beside it.  
  
“How are we all going to fit?” Rodney asked.  
  
“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” John pulled him into a hug, and Rodney closed his eyes, buried his face against John’s neck, focused on the warmth and scent of his skin. “What matters is that we’re here and we’re safe.”  
  
“What if they try to separate us?” Rodney whispered.   
  
John’s arms around him tightened. “Do you want to do it? Register as a Match? They wouldn’t separate us then.”  
  
“What if someone finds out we’re not? You were married before, right? Your Mark must have matched hers too.”  
  
“We never registered as a Match, though,” John said. “She was too modern for that, thankfully.”  
  
But registering as a Match meant going on record with images of the Marks. Those images wouldn’t be accessible in a public records search, just the fact of the Match itself, but if anyone looked deeper, they’d see that John’s older medical records had different Mark images attached to them.  
  
“Let’s think about that later.” John smoothed a hand up and down Rodney’s back. “Let’s go talk to Evan and see what we can’t work out for sleeping arrangements.”  
  
Rodney nodded and stepped back, shook himself out. “Yes. Sleep.”  
  
They ventured back into the den, paused in the doorway. Evan and Ronon were seated on the couch – and the little boy and girl were crawling all over Evan – while the three women stood over them.  
  
“So explain that again,” the younger woman – Tally? – was saying. “Ronon’s tattoo – which he had when you met him – is his military rank, but it coincidentally matches your Mark.”  
  
“Yes,” Evan said.  
  
“I thought you said he was a civilian contractor.” Bobbie narrowed her eyes shrewdly.  
  
“He’s no longer with his own country’s military,” Evan said, “so he works with us as a civilian contractor. Also, he’s not a member of our military, so –"  
  
“What country are you from?” the little boy asked, trying to hoist himself up on Evan’s shoulders. “Are you from Jamaica?”  
  
“Mikey, that’s racist,” Tally said, and snatched him off of Evan, set him down on the couch beside the little girl, who tried to crawl onto Evan’s lap. “Just because he has dreadlocks doesn’t mean he’s Jamaican.”  
  
The little girl prodded Ronon in the arm. “What’s your real Mark, then?”  
  
Evan’s eyes went wide. “Gabby, you can’t ask people that. That’s rude.”  
  
Ronon didn’t have a Mark.  
  
“Ronon,” Bobbie said. “That’s a lovely name. Has your family met Evan?”  
  
“My family is dead,” Ronon said.  
  
Nana blinked. “All of them?”  
  
“Genocide,” Evan said quietly, and all three women were immediately apologetic. “That’s why he’s a civilian. His entire military is gone.”  
  
Rodney was seriously impressed by Evan’s ability to prevaricate on the issue of Ronon’s backstory, even though some of what he said was true.  
  
“I’m sure you’re all very tired,” Bobbie said. “We can get a hotel for the night. In fact, Tally, why don’t you take Nana and the kids to a hotel? And then go pick up some things for me, and we can have a nice welcome home dinner for all these boys.”  
  
“Mom,” Evan began, but Bobbie shook her head.   
  
“Don’t argue with me.” She was already scribbling in a notebook. “You boys need to rest. Mikey, Gabby, go clean up your things.”  
  
“Let me go clear out the bedroom,” Tally said.  
  
Nana went to help the children clean up their possessions. Apparently Tally and the kids had been bunking in the den, Tally on the couch, the kids on the floor in sleeping bags on a ‘camp out’, Bobbie in Evan’s room, Nana in the guest room.  
  
Rodney sank down on the couch beside Ronon, and John sat beside him.  
  
“You all right?” John asked Ronon in a low voice.  
  
Ronon was watching the proceedings with amusement in his eyes. “Yeah. So many things about Evan make more sense now.”  
  
Evan was in the kitchen with Bobbie, fending off her criticisms about how it was organized, and how could he let himself run out of parchment paper? How was she supposed to cook with inadequate supplies? And then Bobbie, without even turning, told Mikey and Gabby to stop squabbling and go help their mother clean the main bedroom, and be sure to fold the clothes right! While Bobbie tore through Evan’s cupboards and refrigerator and bare pantry, taking inventory and making a shopping list, she asked him about his art, if he was still painting. She looked delighted when he told her Ronon was a painter as well. She paused, cocked her head like a hound dog, and said, “Mikey, Gabby, stay out of Uncle Evan’s things! You know soldiers have weapons and weapons are dangerous.”  
  
“So the rumor that Evan is psychic and knows everything on base,” John murmured. “Not just a rumor.”  
  
“Apparently it’s genetic.” Ronon was outright grinning.  
  
Rodney was exhausted just watching all of the commotion. He sighed and slumped against John. “For the record, we’re waiting at least a week before we tell Jeannie we’re back.”  
  
John nodded and, as always, said nothing about his own family.  
  
Nana, the kids, and Tally departed with the shopping list, leaving Bobbie to sit in one of the armchairs facing the couch and interrogate Evan and Ronon about their relationship. Ronon was his usual laconic self, which meant Evan was left fielding the majority of the questions. Rodney listened to him talk around the classified aspects of, well, everything, and was impressed at how he managed to avoid saying anything he shouldn’t without making it too obvious he was self-editing.   
  
“I think it’s lovely you’ve found someone,” Bobbie concluded finally. “Although it sounds like your post was much more exciting than all that deep space telemetry.”  
  
And then she turned her gaze on Rodney and John. John straightened up, ready with that vaunted Sheppard charm, the charm that had gotten the Atlantis Expedition tea with Teyla on Athos, kisses from an Ancient woman posing as a priestess, and countless allies across the Pegasus Galaxy. The charm that had kept Rodney warm with friendship but never once hinted at the passion that burned beneath. For an entire year.  
  
“How did you two meet?” Bobbie asked.  
  
“At work,” John said. “He is – was – the chief science officer, I was the military commander. We spent a lot of time together in boring meetings, and it turned out he plays a pretty mean game of Prime/Not Prime.”  
  
Bobbie furrowed her brow. “I’m not familiar with that game.”  
  
“It’s math-based,” Evan explained. “Colonel Sheppard’s exceptionally talented at math, as is Dr. McKay.”  
  
“Oh, that’s very sweet. Bonding over math.” Bobbie beamed at them.  
  
Before she could ask any more invasive questions about John and Rodney’s relationship, Tally returned laden with groceries. All four men were conscripted to bring the groceries into the apartment, and then Evan was press-ganged into helping his mother and sister cook while the other three dozed quietly in the den.  
  
Dinner was delicious, and John was effusive in his praise of the cooks. Ronon commented that Evan had learned from his mother and grandmother well, and he’d made excellent meals on the few occasions he’d cooked for Ronon for dates. Rodney was mostly interested in sleeping as soon as possible, though he managed to muster up some compliments. John must have read his mind, because he told Rodney to go get ready for bed, he and Ronon could handle the dishes.  
  
Rodney brushed his teeth, stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, and fell face-first onto the guest bed. He wasn’t sure when John finally came to bed, was only vaguely aware of a warm body beside him as he drifted in and out of dreams.  
  
He came awake to a strange sound. A chime. A ringing bell.  
  
A cell phone ringing.  
  
The sound of a radio call on Atlantis was totally different.  
  
Rodney scrabbled at the night stand with one hand, to no avail. He fell off the bed, landed with a grunt, and crawled across the floor to his duffel bag. There. His phone. The SGC’s minions had upgraded him to some fancy smartphone with a touch screen. He followed its directions – swipe to answer – and then Jeannie’s voice burst out at him.  
  
“Meredith! You didn’t say you were back on Earth!”  
  
Rodney winced, hissed, “No, not so loud. Classified.” Had Evan’s mother gone to the hotel with the rest of the family?  
  
“Sam said you guys were back on Earth permanently. Madison wants to come visit. Can we come visit?”  
  
Rodney blinked. “Sure. Wait. No.”  
  
“No? Mer, you’re Madison’s favorite uncle –"  
  
“John and I don’t have a place. Of our own. We’re staying with Evan and Ronon. You can come visit when we have a place.”  
  
“Or you could come visit us. That’d probably happen a lot sooner.”  
  
“True.”  
  
“Excellent. I’ll book tickets and let you know. Sam says you have a week’s leave. Bye!”  
  
And the call ended.  
  
Rodney stared at the phone, confused. Who was Sam? And how did Sam know Rodney’s schedule? He set the phone aside and crawled back onto the bed, snuggling in beside John, who’d slept through the entire debacle.  
  
When he woke again, hours later, to the scent of bacon and Bobbie Lorne’s voice in the kitchen, he realized. Jeannie was friends with Samantha Carter. When had that happened? He wondered if he should be afraid.  
  
Soldiers, Rodney knew, had no shame, but he was still startled by Ronon’s complete aplomb about strolling from the bathroom to the bedroom completely nude. Rodney had had a lot of his boundaries about nudity worn down by sheer dint of desperation in the Pegasus Galaxy. Modesty and continued mud on the skin, or naked times in front of the other soldiers and clean skin? Naked times were a go. What Rodney was completely unprepared for was Bobbie Lorne’s complete aplomb with everyone else’s nudity. She simply called a cheerful good morning to Ronon, who waved back and continued on to the bedroom.  
  
Rodney dashed into the bathroom and showered fast. He yelped when someone opened the bathroom door, but it was just John, shirtless and mumbling an apology about how he was desperate to pee.  
  
Breakfast was just as delicious as supper had been the night before. John came fully awake in the middle of his second helping of pancakes and his third mug of coffee.   
  
Rodney cleared his throat. “So, I got a call from my sister last night.”  
  
John raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”  
  
“She wants to see us. I told her since we don’t have a place of our own she can’t come down here, but she wants us up there,” Rodney said. “Apparently we have a week of leave.”  
  
Bobbie beamed at Evan. “A whole week? That’s lovely. What do you two plan on doing with it?”  
  
“A whole week?” John echoed. “How do you know?”  
  
“I didn’t,” Rodney said. “Apparently Sam told her.”  
  
John choked on his coffee. “Colonel Carter?”  
  
“They’re friends,” Rodney said. “We should be afraid. We should be very afraid.”  
  
“Sam Carter? Wasn’t there a nice blonde girl in flight school named Sam Carter? She was a couple of years ahead of you, right, honey?” Bobbie slid the syrup across the table to Ronon before he had to ask. “You had a crush on her, right?”  
  
“No, Mom,” Evan said, but he was blushing.  
  
And then there was that sound again. A cell phone ringing.  
  
Ronon tilted his head curiously. “What is that?”  
  
“Someone’s cell phone,” Bobbie said, and she eyed him speculatively. “Do they not have cell phones where you’re from?”  
  
“We had no cell phones at our posting,” John said smoothly, patting his pockets down. “Our base had very limited energy resources, which is why we were only allowed to send emails home once a week. The power it took to fire up the connection was a significant drain.”  
  
“Cell phones got a lot fancier while we were where we were,” Evan said. “Whose cell phone is that?”  
  
“They all sound the same unless you customize the sound it makes,” Bobbie said.  
  
After a few moments, the ringing stopped.  
  
“They’ll probably leave a message and you can check it later,” she added.  
  
Only the phone started to ring again.  
  
“What if it’s someone from the base?” Ronon asked. “Did they issue me one of those?”  
  
“Sorry, Mom, but we’d better get this.” Evan stood up and led the charge to the bedrooms, where the four men split up and tore through their gear. Rodney’s cell phone was on the nightstand where he’d left it, and it was inert.   
  
“Clear!” Evan called, and Ronon echoed him, “Clear!”  
  
John fumbled through his duffel bag and came up with a cell phone identical to Rodney’s. “I don’t recognize the number. It’s not a Colorado area code, though.”  
  
“If they keep calling like that, it might be important,” Rodney said.  
  
“What area code is 202?” John asked.  
  
“DC,” Rodney said.  
  
“Why do you know that?”  
  
“When I was stationed in Siberia, I checked every American call that came in. I knew a 202 was my ticket back Stateside.”   
  
John’s phone went silent. And immediately started ringing again.  
  
“If it’s DC, it could be the Pentagon,” Rodney said.  
  
John swiped at the screen hesitantly, raised the phone to his ear. “Hello? Yes, this is John Sheppard. Well, I was in the middle of breakfast – pardon me, say again? Her kidneys are failing. She doesn’t have long left. Copy that. I – let me check with my chief medical officer. Is this number good to call back? Roger that. Sheppard, out.” Then he lowered the phone and stared at it like it had betrayed him.  
  
“John?” Rodney asked. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“That was Grant, Nancy’s new husband. He says she’s dying and she needs a new kidney.”  
  
“Nancy?” Rodney echoed.  
  
John wet his lips. “My ex-wife.”  
  
“Why did he call you?” Evan asked from the doorway.  
  
“She told him we were a Match. She thinks I can save her.”  
  
Evan frowned. “But Rodney’s your Match.”  
  
“Why does he think you can save her?” Ronon asked. “Just because you’re a Match?”  
  
Evan winced. “We’ll talk about that later. Remember, everyone on Earth has a Mark, and everyone here grows up knowing how they work.”  
  
“So, how do they work?” Ronon fixed Evan with an unimpressed look.  
  
“You’re not going to do it, are you?” Rodney asked. His heart thumped oddly in his chest. John’s Mark would fade if he fell out of love – or if his partner fell out of love with him. He’d told Rodney that he and Nancy had fallen out of love. How mutual had the falling out been?  
  


*

  
John, Rodney, Ronon, and Evan were all crammed into Landry’s office. Ronon and Evan really had no reason to be there, other than they’d been present when John got the call. It was good for at least Evan to be present. If they ever went back to Atlantis, if the Ancients ever let them, if John couldn’t go, Evan would be the commander. It’d be good for him to know that kind of thing in advance, prepare for it. Carson and Elizabeth were there, too, and if O’Neill showed up, John knew his humiliation would be complete.  
  
“Explain this again.” Landry pinched the bridge of his nose and looked like a father who’d been told his teenage son had totaled the precious classic car he’d restored himself.  
  
“I received a call from my ex-wife’s new husband,” John said. “I don’t know how he got my number. He informed me that Nancy has been suffering from some kind of chronic illness and her kidneys are failing, and if she doesn’t get a transplant, she’ll die. Because she has a Rare Mark, chances of her finding a match off the donor registry are low. She informed him that I was a Match and could potentially donate.”  
  
“But you’re not a Match.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“But she believes you’re a Match.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Because you have a Mark that just...becomes the same as the Mark of whoever you’re in love with.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Landry sighed, peered at Carson. “Were you aware of this?”  
  
“Not until Colonel Sheppard disclosed it to Rodney,” Carson said.  
  
Landry squinted at Elizabeth. “And you let them be on the same gate team?”  
  
“John’s feelings for Rodney hadn’t clouded his judgment previously, so I saw no reason to disturb what was a highly effective team.” Elizabeth lifted her chin and met Landry’s gaze squarely.  
  
Landry nodded at Evan and Ronon. “You didn’t let those two be on a gate team.”  
  
“I gave them the option,” Elizabeth said, “but Major Lorne felt our resources were best utilized by him leading his own team and Ronon adding his expertise about the Pegasus Galaxy to our front-line first-contact team.”  
  
“I don’t see how Sheppard’s donating a kidney to his ex-wife – or not – is any business of the military,” Rodney said, but there was a tension in his shoulders that made John worry.  
  
“Well, I am his primary care physician,” Carson said, “so consulting me on the question was a necessity.”  
  
“Any decision that would affect Colonel Sheppard’s ability to do his job – and undergoing an elective surgery that could put him out of commission for an extended period and affect his job performance in the future – is important to me,” Landry said. “The universe is a dangerous place, people. I don’t want to send any men out there in less than top condition.”  
  
“Surely there are soldiers on other gate teams who’ve donated organs,” Evan said, and Rodney cast him a sharp look that made even John flinch.  
  
“We take the health of our personnel very seriously,” Carson said. “If there’s any sign that their health is at all compromised, we re-evaluate our recommendation that they be gate-rated.”  
  
“Simple, then,” Rodney said. “John doesn’t do it.”  
  
“The bigger problem,” Elizabeth said, “is that Nancy Sherman thinks that John is a Match for her, and he’s not.”  
  
“But he was at one time,” Landry said.  
  
Carson sighed. “It’s not that simple. Colonel Sheppard’s physiology will not radically change itself just because he falls in love with someone new. Best as I can tell, from the tests I ran on him, he’s a universal blood donor, but there’s no getting around the issue of tissue compatibility. Matches typically do have a six-antigen match.”  
  
“The other issue is legal,” Elizabeth said. “John’s basically been lying on his medical forms all his life. And if Nancy believed them a Match when she agreed to marry him, whether they registered as a Match or not, there could be consequences for him, serious consequences. He falls into something of a legal black hole, as one of the Unmarked.”  
  
“What’s the worst that could happen to someone who’s Unmarked?” Landry asked.  
  
John said, “My father had my mother killed because of it.”  
  
There was a moment of shocked silence, and then Rodney burst out with, “ _What?_ ”  
  
John closed his eyes, swallowed hard. Then he opened them and met Landry’s gaze firmly. “There’s a lot of misinformation about the Unmarked. He believed her Mark was fading because she was cheating on him. It was fading because he fell out of love with her. And then he found out the truth about her Mark – what he thought was the truth – and there was a car crash. But it wasn’t an accident.”  
  
“John.” Rodney grabbed his hand and squeezed.  
  
John squeezed back. “It’s why I never told anyone about me.”  
  
“You don’t think this Grant Sherman will have you killed, do you?” Landry asked.  
  
“I’d like to see him try,” Ronon grumbled.  
  
“What sparse legal precedent there is on the subject indicates that the Unmarked are to be treated as subhuman, liars and traitors, and punished harshly,” Elizabeth said.  
  
“Although I believe Colonel Sheppard’s Mark Type is related to his ATA gene,” Carson said. “He indicated that Chaya, the Ascended Ancient he interacted with, reported that Ancients had a similar Mark system, where each person had a personal Mark, but when they fell in love the couple would both develop the same Mark that was a combination of both their personal Marks.”  
  
“The other issue, of course, is the form of the Mark itself,” Elizabeth said.  
  
Landry raised his eyebrows. “How so?”  
  
“It’s a Stargate,” Rodney said.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“The Mark. Is of a Pegasus Stargate, with the chevrons for the address to Atlantis highlighted. All growing up I had no idea what it was, and even when I saw the Stargate here I thought it was uncanny, how similar it looked, but it wasn’t quite the same, and now – now I know.” Rodney squeezed John’s hand again.  
  
“If the issue comes to litigation, the Mark will have to be revealed for comparison to Nancy’s Mark,” Elizabeth said.  
  
Landry buried his face in his hands. “Someone please tell me that Ba’al is launching another attack on Earth.”  
  
“Who’s Ba’al?” Ronon asked.  
  
“There’s no legal way they can force John to donate a kidney,” Rodney said. “Right? I mean, why would this come to litigation?”  
  
“If they discover that John fraudulently represented himself as a Match to his ex-wife, there could be legal ramifications,” Elizabeth said.  
  
Rodney threw his hands up. “Like what? He didn’t defraud her out of money or promise her children.”  
  
Elizabeth bit her lip. “There is precedent,” she said. “A declared Match carries with it not only marital expectations, but also others, like the physiological benefits of a Match.”  
  
“She had those benefits while we were a Match,” John said quietly.  
  
“If she misses out on a chance for a real donor because she’s aggressively pursuing you because you lied to her about being an actual Match, her husband could sue you for damages in a wrongful death action,” Elizabeth said.  
  
Rodney cast her a look. “Did you go to law school?”   
  
“No, but I do my research,” she said, unfazed by the angry edge in Rodney’s voice.  
  
“Could you just tell her? That you’re not really a Match and she should look somewhere else?” Evan asked.  
  
Landry sighed. “This is outside my realm of expertise. We really need a JAG officer or three on this. In the meantime, go, enjoy your leave, avoid talking to this Grant Sherman character, and keep your heads down.”  
  
They were halfway to the commissary – John wanted to eat something and shoot something, in that order – when a cell phone rang. Both of their cell phones rang. Rodney fished his out of his pocket, fumbled with the touch screen, and then said, “Jeannie?”  
  
John didn’t recognize the number on his, answered warily. “Hello?”  
  
“John.”  
  
John stopped short in the hallway. A group of Marines dodged around him, speculating loudly about what was for lunch.  
  
“Dave?”  
  
“Heard you were finally back Stateside.”  
  
“News travels fast. You don’t secretly have an in with Colonel Carter, do you?”  
  
“Nancy works at the Pentagon. She’s a director now,” Dave said.  
  
John closed his eyes. Did she know about the Stargate program? “Did she put you up to this?”  
  
“She didn’t put me up to anything,” Dave said quietly. “I always liked her. So did Dad. Still does. She was good to you.”  
  
John opened his eyes. Rodney was pacing back and forth across the hallway, heedless of pedestrian traffic, talking a mile a minute to his sister.  
  
“It’s not that simple –"  
  
“One kidney, John. You’re, what, a glorified bus driver out on the ice at McMurdo?”  
  
“Nancy must not be as connected as you think. I’m stationed at Peterson now.”   
  
“Come on. You know how important a Rare Match can be. Mom and Dad were –"  
  
“You don’t know anything about Mom and Dad,” John hissed. He sucked in a deep breath. He couldn’t get into this, not now.   
  
“John,” Dave began, and then sirens began to blare overhead, and an automated voice said, _Unscheduled off-world activation._  
  
“Sorry, Dave. I have to go.” John swore under his breath.  
  
Rodney’s eyes were wide, and he said a hasty farewell to his sister, and then they both dashed to the control room.  
  
SG-13 was coming in hot, blaster fire all around them. Another run-in with the Lucian Alliance.  
  
“It’s official,” Cameron Mitchell said. “Now we’re the damn space police.”  
  
Landry eyed John and said, “I thought you were on leave.”  
  
“Almost made it out the door, sir,” John said. “Just wanted to see what the excitement was all about.”  
  
“Go, son,” Landry said. “We’ll call you when we know more.”  
  
Rodney said, “That was Jeannie. She bought us tickets. We can leave tomorrow.”  
  
“Great,” John said. “I need food.”

*

  
Evan and Ronon put them up for one more night, and they got to enjoy Bobbie Lorne’s fantastic cooking, and then they packed their gear and shuffled off to the airport – John in civilian clothes, because he couldn’t cope with grateful platitudes from strangers, not anymore.  
  
Rodney had taken to his new smartphone with glee, and was bombarding Zelenka and Carson and various other scientists with emails left and right. Everyone was waiting that one blessed week to find out what their options were. Zelenka was considering Area 51. Beckett was going to stay on at the SGC in the infirmary. Elizabeth was back home in DC, considering her shattered engagement and what to do with the rest of her life that would ever come close to leading Atlantis. John sat beside Rodney at the gate, petulant, because every pilot ever hated being subject to someone else’s flying. He’d figured out how to use his phone as an iPod and had tracked down every single Johnny Cash album ever, and he was listening to _American IV_ when their flight was called.  
  
John was a soldier, so he could sleep anytime, anywhere he needed to, and sleep was something he needed. He liked Jeannie, had enjoyed her company the one time she’d come to Atlantis, so he was looking forward to seeing her and getting to know her family. But being around people took energy, and John was feeling pretty low-energy right now. His Mark throbbed inside his wrist.  
  
He’d gotten strapped into his seat and had just about fallen asleep when Rodney said, “Wait! We need to bring a gift for Madison. It’s a rule!”  
  
John assured Rodney they’d find a place to buy a gift on the way, and then he launched himself into dreams.  
  
His dreams were a tumult, memories of his mother, of her funeral, the files he’d found on his father’s desk mixed with the Wraith and the Genii and that boy he’d had his first crush on in school. He was trying to save that boy from a Wraith while his mother shouted in the background, and he couldn’t do it, couldn’t save both the boy and his mother, had to choose, had to let one die -  
  
“John, wake up.”  
  
John snapped awake at the urgency in Rodney’s voice. “What’s going on? Sit rep?”  
  
Rodney curled a hand over his shoulder. “You were having a nightmare,” he said in a low voice.  
  
John blinked. “I was?” He noticed some of the other passengers in the cabin casting him disgruntled looks.  
  
A flight attendant stopped by their seats. “Is everything all right?” she asked, tone solicitous but expression tired and impatient.  
  
“Yeah, sorry.” John flashed her his best apologetic smile.  
  
“No,” Rodney said firmly. “He’s on leave from a combat zone. It was rough out there.”  
  
The flight attendant’s expression softened. “Anything I can do to help?”  
  
John shook his head. “I’ll be fine, really. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Let me know if you need anything,” the flight attendant said, and then she hurried away to answer someone else’s call.  
  
Rodney said in a low voice, “You were calling out in Ancient, but I could tell you were talking about the Wraith and the Genii. You’re not fine.”  
  
“It wasn’t flashbacks. It was just – a jumble of everything. Wraith. Genii. My – situation.” John rubbed his wristband.  
  
“I won’t let anyone do anything to hurt you.” Rodney curled his fingers through John’s and held his hand tightly.  
  
John loved Rodney, knew Rodney would die for him, kill for him, but this wasn’t Pegasus, wasn’t the Stargate program, wasn’t their war zone, and he didn’t know how much of a fight they’d be able to put up.  
  
The plane landed in Toronto with little trouble. John had to resist the urge to roll his eyes when the passengers applauded at the landing (no one had ever applauded his landings, but his trainers had often seen fit to rain insults and derision down on him if he didn’t come in to land perfectly smoothly), and then he and Rodney were hauling their duffel bags to the arrivals terminal. They stopped in a gift shop to buy an overpriced stuffed animal for Madison. The winner was a stuffed winged unicorn (an alicorn, according to the label). Rodney stared at its rainbow mane and tail, and then raised his eyebrows at John.  
  
John waggled it at him. “Come on. This is the perfect gift, considering where we’re coming from.”  
  
“Fine,” Rodney said, and handed over his credit card.  
  
Jeannie and Madison were waiting at the arrivals gate, Madison waving a giant sign that read “Welcome Home Uncle Meredith!” and underneath it, in smaller letters, “and Uncle John”.  
  
“Uncle Mer! Uncle Mer!” Madison jumped up and down, beaming.  
  
“Hey, kiddo,” Rodney said, hesitating on the term of endearment, but Madison preened under the attention.  
  
“Meredith, welcome home.” Jeannie pulled him into a hug.  
  
“Thanks for coming, Jeannie.”   
  
“Hey Madison,” John said, kneeling in front of her. “Thanks for coming to see us. We brought you a present.”  
  
Her eyes lit up. He held out the stuffed alicorn and smiled, and Madison fell upon it with a squeal and, after Jeannie cleared her throat pointedly, a “Thank you!”  
  
John ruffled her hair and stood up. “Welcome, kiddo.” He offered a hand to Jeannie, who pulled him into a hug, startling him.  
  
“Sam told me some of what happened,” Jeannie said in a low voice. Then she stepped back. “Are you all right?”  
  
“We’re fine, physically,” John said. “Evacuation was orderly. It was just very – sudden.” Then, to distract her from any topics of conversation that civilians shouldn’t overhear, he said, “Where’s Kaleb?”  
  
“He’s at a meeting with his editor, but he should be home in time for dinner. Come on – I made up the spare room for you.” Jeannie smiled and led them out to the parking lot.  
  
Madison slipped her hand into Rodney’s while they walked, and something in John’s chest tightened when he saw the way Rodney curled his hand around hers protectively, changing his stride so she could keep up with him. He’d always wanted children, but given his career and Nancy’s, having children would have been incredibly selfish. Despite his misgivings about children, Rodney would make a great father one day.  
  
In the car, Madison chattered about preschool, about her friends in the neighborhood, and the fun things she did with Jeannie. John watched the city pass by, fading from high-rises and glass-walled office towers to neatly-organized neighborhoods, with manicured lawns and painted houses. The Miller home was a quaint little two-story house with a white exterior, a small lawn edged with bright flowers, and a sign on the front door that read, “Friends Welcome”.  
  
In the foyer, Madison kicked off her shoes and hung up her coat with pride, beaming up at Rodney as she did so, and Jeannie thanked her for remembering without being asked. John and Rodney took off their shoes as well, but John kept his jacket on.  
  
“Mer,” Jeannie said to Rodney, “show John up to the guest room. I’ll call Kaleb and get an ETA from him, okay?”  
  
Rodney nodded and John followed him up the stairs to the third bedroom, which was a bit cramped for two adults, but the double bed would fit them both, and they’d slept in much worse accommodations, so John wasn’t about to complain. He stowed both duffels in the closet and then sank down on the edge of the bed.  
  
Rodney sat down beside him. “Are you all right?”  
  
John rubbed at his wrist absently. “Yeah. I just – my mother warned me not to tell anyone, said no one would understand.”  
  
“I understood,” Rodney pointed out.  
  
“You were also in someone else’s body. You’d been through a Stargate, to other planets and galaxies. Your ability to accept something previously outside your realm of experience is –”  
  
“A necessity for a scientist.”  
  
“Is something not a lot of people have, especially people outside of the program.” John took a deep breath. “After my mother died, I went to speak to my father, and I found this file on his desk. About my mother. With a bunch of information about the Unmarked – inaccurate information, at least based on what my mother had told me. I figured since the Mark Type came from her line, she’d know better how it worked than a bunch of paranoid scientists working off of old prejudices. It wasn’t just the medical information that freaked me out, the cold, clinical way it described people like my mother and me. It was the other information. About the car crash that killed her. Car malfunction, everyone said. Tragic accident. There was talk of a lawsuit afterward, against the car manufacturers, but it never happened. There was a settlement instead. But the information about the car crash, what I’d initially assumed was a memo compiled by a crash engineer for the lawsuit – it was dated weeks before the crash. So I knew. He thought she was cheating on him or something, and he had her killed.”  
  
“Is that why you don’t talk to your family?” Rodney asked.  
  
“I can’t look at my father. And my brother doesn’t know. He thinks I rebelled because I was a punk kid. But I couldn’t stay in that house, knowing what my father had done to my mother, wondering what he would do if he found out about me.” John swallowed hard. He peeled off his wristband and held out his hand, so Rodney could see his Mark. It was as bright and bold as ever. “This will never fade because of me. I promise.”  
  
Rodney closed his hand over John’s wrist, covering the Mark. “I know.”  
  
Jeannie let them know dinner was almost ready, to wash up and come downstairs. Kaleb was greeting Madison with hugs and kisses when they came into the kitchen. Dinner was a pleasant affair – although John could see Rodney was struggling not to make a face at the tofu – and conversation flowed easily enough, John asking about Kaleb’s latest book and Jeannie asking about her acquaintances from the Expedition.  
  
Madison demanded Uncle Mer and Uncle John help her get ready for bed, so after Kaleb wrangled her bath, John and Rodney attempted to tell her a bedtime story, which was an edited version of the incident with the planet that had a submerged city-ship, a tyrannical ruling class, and intrigue that was basically edited down to the hero (John) defeating the evil king (Otho) to save the planet. Rodney kept trying to add unnecessary background details that bordered on an NDA violation, while John tried to keep the story interesting, and Madison eventually fell asleep out of sheer boredom, but the mission was accomplished, and the two of them beat a hasty retreat. It had been easier, John thought, telling the Athosian kids bedtime stories ripped off from horror movies.  
  
Kaleb invited them into the living room for a bedtime glass of wine, and they sat around, talking about boring grown-up things, like the stock market, their retirement benefits, stupid politicians, and their annoying coworkers. Kaleb went to turn in for bed first, put his glass in the sink and went to brush his teeth. Once he was out of earshot, Jeannie turned to Rodney, put a hand on his arm.  
  
“Mer, are you all right?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Rodney said.  
  
John went into the kitchen to rinse his glass and put it in the dishwasher, to give them some privacy. He wondered what it would be like, to be able to talk to someone in his family about Atlantis. He wondered what it would be like, to be able to talk to someone in his family at all, talk about something other than the weather or the stock market. Not that either he or Rodney talked about their feelings much, but they really didn’t have to. John knew Rodney felt it too, every time they watched an off-world Stargate fire up, with the address for Atlantis lit at the chevrons. Their Mark, larger than life, for everyone to see. The symbol of everything that had brought them together.  
  
Unfamiliar footsteps behind him caught his attention before he even realized it, and he was turning, wary.  
  
Kaleb stood in the doorway, wearing sleep pants and a t-shirt. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I know you can’t tell me anything about your posting. But – how dangerous was it, really?”  
  
“For Jeannie? Not at all,” John said quickly. “She was kept far, far away from any action or potential combat zones. She stayed in the labs with Rodney and the rest of the scientists.”  
  
“But Meredith – Rodney. He goes into combat zones with you?”  
  
“He used to,” John said. “Somehow I doubt they’ll have him doing that anymore. They’ll give me a new assignment. But he was trained. I made sure of it. Me and the rest of the people on my team.”  
  
“Meredith?”  
  
“He’s tougher than he looks. And a hell of a lot braver.”  
  
Kaleb tilted his head, looked at John. “Do you miss it?”  
  
“It was home.” John missed Atlantis with every fiber of his being, the way she was constantly singing in his blood, the way she would rise to meet him when he called for her, like warm spring sunshine and an angelic chorus all in one.  
  
“Will America ever be home again?”  
  
“At this point, home is wherever Rodney is.”  
  
Kaleb studied John some more, then nodded. “Good night.”  
  
“Good night.” John turned to finish loading the dishwasher, and then Jeannie and Rodney entered the kitchen. Rodney’s expression was pinched, tight, and Jeannie’s expression was a combative one John recognized from Rodney, when Rodney was vigorously protesting what he thought was a stupid command decision.  
  
“We’ll finish this discussion later, Meredith,” Jeannie said, and she reached for the other dishes with a certain deliberate forcefulness that told John to back away.  
  
“Thanks for a lovely evening,” he said, and Jeannie flashed him a genuine smile before she resumed her scowl and started loading the dishwasher with vigor.  
  
John grabbed Rodney’s hand, and they fled to the guest room.  
  
“Is everything all right?” John asked.  
  
Rodney swallowed hard. “It will be.” He leaned and kissed John, hotly and thoroughly and with purpose, so John let Rodney lower him to the bed, and they forgot the world and got lost in each other.

The next day, Kaleb went into the office (he worked eight-to-five at an office every day, because routine helped him stay disciplined with his writing), so Jeannie invited Rodney and John along on her daily routine. Rodney wondered how Jeannie managed on her own, because it took both him and John to wrangle Madison into her seat at the kitchen table (after Jeannie dressed her for the day) and get her to eat. She was bouncing all over the place and getting into everything while Jeannie cooked and packed for their day out. Somehow Jeannie always seemed to know when Madison was about to get into something she shouldn’t (as opposed to something harmless), and she could deflect Madison’s attention with an easy, “Not right now, sweetie,” or “Don’t you want more cereal?”  
  
Rodney didn’t know enough about children to know what was and wasn’t dangerous, so he tried to keep Madison out of everything. And John, John murmured to Rodney, when breakfast was done and they were on their way to the park for Madison’s play date with some other neighborhood children her age, “I will never complain about herding Marines again.”  
  
There were mothers and fathers and nannies (and mannies) all congregated around the playground equipment. They greeted Jeannie with warm familiarity, and Rodney was glad Jeannie had friends. They probably didn’t know how brilliant she was, and Rodney had always fretted that in her departure from academia her mind would atrophy from lack of stimulating conversation, but the people seemed nice enough. Jeannie introduced Rodney and John, and they were immediately welcomed into the fold.  
  
Until Madison told some of the other kids that her Uncle John was a fighter pilot, and suddenly the kids were asking for John to come play with them. John had time to cast Rodney one panicked look before a dozen five-year-olds swarmed him and dragged him out onto the playground, where John proceeded to pick them up one by one and zoom them around the equipment. Rodney thought he was safe until one of the other kids suggested they have a dog-fight, and then Rodney was drafted into being the other ‘pilot’, zooming another child through the air in some kind of mock aerial battle.  
  
Kids were heavy. What the hell were these parents feeding their kids?  
  
Also, Jeannie was laughing at him, which was patently unfair. Madison was her child. Why was she not doing this?  
  
Rodney felt slightly less ridiculous when some of the other fathers and mannies were drafted into the aerial combat, and maybe Rodney really did need to put some more time in in the weight room with Ronon (only he might never be anywhere near a weight room with Ronon again). The children were very impressed with John’s ability to do appropriate battle sound effects, and also his demonstration of Air Force radio voice procedure. Somehow Rodney and John ended up on Team Manny against Team Fathers, and John had assigned radio call signs to each child (Madison was Alpha Unicorn) and was directing battle tactics, and Rodney thought, with a sudden pang, that John would make a wonderful father.  
  
But they couldn’t have children. Obvious biological impossibilities aside, with both of them on the front line, having a child would be selfish and irresponsible.   
  
The leader of Team Fathers called for a break, because all of them were panting and out of breath. Jeannie trotted over to hand out bottles of water, and Rodney drained his in three swallows. John had marshaled his little Air Force of five into a row and was bestowing “promotions” and “medals” upon them, so Rodney had to wait until the last child (Captain Hot Wings) had been given his salute before he could interrupt and give John a bottle of water.  
  
One of the fathers said to John, “You’re really good at this. Do you have children of your own?”  
  
“Unless you count a couple hundred unruly Marines, no.” John smiled wryly and unscrewed the cap of his bottle of water, took a long pull.  
  
“He does have two nieces, though.”  
  
John whipped around, battle-ready, and Rodney moved to stand with him. He felt naked without his sidearm and his tac vest, because the tension crackling in the air around John was the kind of tension that signaled incoming Wraith.  
  
There was no Wraith, just a man, tall, square-jawed, blue-eyed, dark-haired, standing on the edge of the playground, hands tucked into the pockets of his perfectly-tailored slacks, blue eyes bluer from the grey of his soft sweater.  
  
“Dave.”  
  
“John.”  
  
“What are you doing here?” John stepped toward him, putting himself between his brother and Rodney and the other parents and children.  
  
“I felt the need to appeal to you in person,” Dave said, expression grave.  
  
“Now’s not such a good time.” John lifted his chin, flashed Dave that little smirk, the one Rodney knew infuriated authority figures to no end.  
  
But Dave, it seemed, was immune to the vaunted Sheppard charm. Probably because he’d grown up with it, or because he was a Sheppard too. “Nancy doesn’t have a lot of time.”  
  
“Jeannie,” John said, voice deceptively pleasant, “keep an eye on Rodney for me, will you? I need to have a chat with my brother in private.” He lifted his chin at Dave, and Dave nodded, turned and started for some point toward the other end of the park. John followed him at a casual stroll, but Rodney saw the marked purpose in his movements.  
  
Rodney started after him.  
  
“Leave it, Mer,” Jeannie said warningly. All growing up, she’d taken it upon herself to warn him when he was failing to catch social cues.  
  
“I’m going with him,” he said, and he didn’t mean just this time. She knew he was referring back to their argument from last night, about her wanting him to stay off of any future gate teams John would inevitably be assigned to, and she glared at him.  
  
But then Madison said, voice small and anxious, “Mommy, what’s going on?”  
  
And Jeannie directed Madison back to playing with the other children, and Rodney hurried to catch up with John, whose slouchy stroll carried him deceptively quickly.  
  
By the time Rodney arrived, John and Dave were facing off, speaking quickly and quietly.  
  
“ – Do something useful with yourself, for once in your life!”  
  
“What I do is damned useful,” John said.  
  
“What, deep space telemetry out of Cheyenne?” Dave sneered. “Yes, I got an update on your posting. You go from being a glorified bus driver to, what, babysitting scientists? Because you’re banging that scientist, right?”  
  
“Rodney and I are _partners,_ ” John said. “And I _love him._ ”  
  
“Well, you loved Nancy once, and you’re her Match.”  
  
“Not anymore.”  
  
Dave huffed. “People fall out of love, but they don’t stop being Matches.”  
  
“She fell out of love with me first,” John said, “and then we stopped being a Match.”  
  
“That’s impossible.” Dave scoffed. And then his eyes narrowed. “Unless –”  
  
“John,” Rodney broke in.  
  
“Stay out of this,” Dave said without even looking at him.  
  
“You should wait to speak to the JAG officer,” Rodney said, glaring at Dave.  
  
“You’re Unmarked,” Dave breathed.   
  
John lifted his chin. “Yes.”  
  
“You lied to Nancy.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You told her you were a Match.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“She told me you showed her your Mark and told her you were in love with her.”  
  
“I was in love with her, so a Mark came in, but it wasn’t a Match.”  
  
Dave’s brow furrowed. “What?”  
  
“She’d altered her Mark,” John said. “I had no idea what her Mark really looked like. I was confused when my Mark came in because it didn’t Match what I’d seen of hers, so I showed her my Mark anyway, told her I loved her even though we weren’t a Match, and then she – she showed me.”  
  
“You let her think you were a Match.”  
  
“At the time, I was.”  
  
Dave rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that.” His dismissive tone made Rodney want to hit something.  
  
“How would you know?” John asked.  
  
“Dad told me –”  
  
“Told you how he had our mother killed because he misunderstood her Mark and assumed she was cheating on him because when he got angry with her he literally fell out of love with her and her Mark faded?”  
  
Dave paused. “What? Mom died in a car crash.”  
  
“That our father orchestrated.”  
  
“John –”  
  
“I saw the memo. The engineer who investigated the crash for the lawsuit was the man who’d designed it in the first place.”  
  
“You’re just being paranoid.”  
  
“Mom wasn’t even cold before our father gave Kathy her diamonds.”  
  
Dave flinched. “Look, I was marrying Kathy soon anyway, and it’s a family tradition.”  
  
John shook his head in disgust. “This was why Mom told me to never tell anyone. I can’t help Nancy. Never could. Couldn’t help Rodney either, if he got sick like Nancy did.”  
  
“How do you know? You haven’t even tried. You could at least submit to the tests.”  
  
“Why do you care so much?” Rodney asked. “About John’s ex-wife?”  
  
“Someone in this family ought to, after what she put up with from John,” Dave said. “And stay out of it. This is none of your business.”  
  
“Rodney’s my family. This is his business as much as it is mine,” John snapped, and he reached out, tugged Rodney close, the way he did when Rodney was supposed to be in off-planet formation and had gotten distracted.  
  
Rodney shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. If you’d seen John’s service record – and I’m guessing you have, given how much you’ve poked around in his military record as it is – then you know he’s been more than a glorified bus driver of the sky and a babysitter for scientists. You’ve seen his commendations and his promotion – below the zone, by the way – and soldiers don’t get that kind of chest candy for nothing.” Rodney was pretty pleased with his own fluent use of military lingo. He _had_ been paying attention to John’s conversations with Evan about ranks and promotions and awards. “However dismissive you might be of John’s life choices, your insistence that he put himself at a physical disadvantage – knowing he’s served as a military commander at a classified outpost in a damn combat zone – has to be for something deeper than your loyalty to his ex-wife over him.”  
  
Dave narrowed his eyes. “Whatever it is you think you know, you don’t.”  
  
“You’re so desperate to keep this woman alive that you probably illegally accessed military records – you didn’t even blink when I told you the truth about John’s posting – and flew to another country to brow-beat John into giving up a _vital organ_. That’s not just disdain,” Rodney said. “What is it you want?”  
  
“Nancy needs to stay alive,” Dave said, “for her son.”  
  
“Nancy has a son?” John echoed. His expression changed. Damn John for having a soft spot for children, even though a few minutes ago it had been adorable.  
  
Dave nodded, but Rodney had a sinking feeling, and suddenly he knew.  
  
“Not just Nancy,” he said.  
  
John frowned. “What?”  
  
Dave’s jaw tightened, and Rodney saw a flicker of something across his features, something like guilt. And John realized.  
  
“ _My_ son.”  
  
Dave looked away.  
  
“How old?” John demanded.  
  
“Five,” Dave said.  
  
“Was anyone ever going to tell me?”  
  
“You’re on the birth certificate.” Dave wet his lips; John had the same tic when he was nervous.  
  
“That’s not the same as telling me!”  
  
“Dad was planning on disinheriting you and leaving your share to him,” Dave said. “So the business stayed in the family.”  
  
The blankness of John’s expression was belied by the anguish in his eyes. “What’s his name?”  
  
“John –”  
  
“ _Tell me his name!_ ”  
  
“Jason. Jason Patrick Sheppard.”  
  
John rocked back like he’d been struck. Then he reached into his pocket, fished out his cell phone, dialed. He turned away from Dave and Rodney both, shoulders tight with fury. He rattled off a series of clearance codes and asked to speak to Chief Master Sergeant someone-or-other.  
  
Dave raised his eyebrows at Rodney, questioning. Rodney cast Dave a look he usually reserved for Wraith and Genii.  
  
John said, “I need to know if child support has been regularly deducted from my paychecks for the past five, six years. No? But – what? Diverted to another account? What kind of account? What’s the name on the account? J. Sheppard? What’s the social security number? That’s not my social security number. What’s the full name attached to that number? I see. Thank you, Chief.” He shoved his phone into his pocket and turned back to his brother. He was deathly pale, and the rage in his eyes was frightening.  
  
“You were never going to tell me, were you? You were going to let our father disinherit me and – and what?” John narrowed his eyes. “Does Kathy know? Do the girls know? Do they get to play with their cousin?”  
  
Dave sighed. “John, you’re being unreasonable.”  
  
“ _I’m_ being unreasonable?” John threw his hands up. “The man you call ‘Dad’ _murdered our mother_ and you fucking well sided with him in his dynastic insanity and even went so far as to conceal the fact that I have a son?”  
  
“Nancy agreed,” Dave said quietly.  
  
John shook his head. “I knew she’d fallen out of love with me, but I didn’t think she hated me.”  
  
“It wasn’t about hate.”  
  
“Then what the hell was it about?”  
  
“It never would have worked out. With your job and your lifestyle, you’d never have been there for him anyway –"  
  
“Like our father was there for us?”  
  
“ – And there was every chance you’d have left him fatherless anyway. With how dangerous your work is –"  
  
“If I’d known, I’d never have gone,” John said, and Rodney’s breath left him. “I charged headlong into what was very nearly a one-way trip on the flip of a coin because I believed I had nothing on Earth waiting for me, nothing and no one, and all this time –" John shook his head, stepped back. “I cannot believe you did this to me. You and Nancy and – and our _father_. I thought he was a monster, for having our mother killed. But what you did – what you did might just be worse.”  
  
Dave’s expression hardened. “For the last time, Dad didn’t have Mom murdered.”  
  
John reached into his pocket, fished out his phone again, dialed a number. “Yes, this is John Sheppard. I’d like to speak to Solomon Hartshorn, please.” There was a pause, and the look John cast his brother was inscrutable. His friendly, charming tone was at complete odds with the dead look in his eyes. “Sol, hey, it’s John. I know, been a long time. Remember that file I gave you? You know the one, to be released in the event of my death under suspicious circumstances? Could you do me a favor? Have Cynthia copy document seventeen and send it to –" He paused, raised his eyebrows at Dave. “Still using O’Hara and Sullivan?”  
  
Dave nodded warily.  
  
“Send it to Bernard O’Hara at O’Hara and Sullivan.”  
  
This was a John Sheppard Rodney had never seen before, smooth and charming and polished, privileged and utterly confident that he was entitled to every demand he was making (speaking to a named partner at a law firm at the drop of a hat), with a presumption of obedience that went beyond being a commanding officer.  
  
“Thanks, Sol. Give my best to Madeleine and the girls.” John disconnected and shoved his phone back into his pocket. “You’ll be hearing from your attorney soon.”  
  
“I don’t know what you think you’ll prove with whatever it is you’re doing,” Dave said.  
  
John took a deep, shuddering breath. “If you’d been honest with me, if you’d just told me the truth, I’d have done everything in my power to help Nancy. We have access to technology you wouldn’t even believe, life-saving new medicine.”  
  
Incredulity flared in Dave’s eyes. “So you’re just going to let her die?”  
  
“Of course not,” John said. “I’m not Patrick Sheppard. I won’t let my son grow up without a mother out of spite or selfishness. I’m going to make sure she’s saved. But I _will_ see my son.” He stepped back, stepped back again, and his posture relaxed a hair. “Come on, Rodney. I guess it’s time to light a fire under that JAG officer.”  
  


*

  
John apologized as profusely as he could to Jeannie and Madison and Kaleb, but their visit had to be cut short. He had to get back to Colorado Springs and rustle up that JAG officer and maybe even got Solomon Hartshorn or one of his hotshot litigators on the case. He had a son.  
  
“You can stay if you want,” John said to Rodney, pausing in his frantic packing (not that he’d unpacked much). “I know you want to spend time with your family.”  
  
“ _You’re_ my family.” Rodney had been oddly subdued since they’d returned from the park. Luckily Madison had been shielded from the worst of it, as had Jeannie.  
  
“And you’re mine. I just –"  
  
“Is it true?” Rodney caught his gaze, held it.  
  
John’s hands stilled on the drawstring ties of the duffel bag. “Is what true?”  
  
“If you’d had a son, you would never have said yes to Atlantis?”  
  
“Elizabeth warned us it could be a one-way trip. I could never do that to a child.”  
  
“But then you and I never would’ve met.” Rodney pressed his lips into a thin line, like he was trying to look angry, but there was something in his eyes that was fragile as glass.  
  
John sank down on the bed beside him. “Rodney,” he said, covering one of Rodney’s hands with his, “I wouldn’t give you up for the world. I’d give up command of Atlantis and gate travel and my commission and my wings before I’d give you up. I’m not about to run off and start a family and leave you behind. You’re part of my family. But I have a son, and he’s part of my family too, and I can’t let that go any longer.”  
  
Rodney hunched his shoulders, shrank down. “But I’m not that kind of man, not a father –"  
  
“You’re wrong.”  
  
Immediately Rodney straightened up, disbelief flaring in his eyes, because he was Rodney McKay, the smartest man in two galaxies, and he was _never_ wrong.  
  
John leaned in, lowered his voice, caught Rodney’s gaze and held it, forcing Rodney to focus on him exclusively. “These last couple of days I’ve watched you with Madison, and I watched you with those kids today, and you, Rodney McKay, will make an excellent father.”  
  
John waited two heartbeats, three, and then Rodney said, “All right. Let’s go find that lazy JAG officer.”  
  
When they got back to Cheyenne Mountain, they agreed to be put up in quarters on the base. They still had four days of leave left, and John wanted to use them as productively as possible before he was put back to work. Evan had been given command of SG-13, and Landry had grudgingly allowed Ronon to be on the team with him. All indications were that John would be given a team of his own, and Rodney would be given a prime position in the science department, but he wasn’t going back to a gate team; his brains were too precious for that.  
  
They had just set their duffel bags down on their respective sides of the bed when there was a knock at the door.  
  
“Enter,” John said, since he and Rodney were still fully dressed. The flight had been long, and they both wanted to sleep, but they both needed food and to check in with Landry, Weir, and O’Neill (who had been read in to the situation after John disclosed the security breach Dave had taken advantage of).  
  
“Colonel Sheppard.” The woman who stepped into the room was short, golden-skinned, and had a pretty, heart-shaped face, generous curves, and a steely glint in her eye. She saluted, so he saluted back. “Major Naomi Cartwright, sir. Your JAG officer. General Landry said you wanted to meet right away.” She was wearing BDUs and looked frankly exhausted.  
  
“Thank you for coming so quickly.” John flashed her a smile, and her posture relaxed a fraction. “We haven’t eaten yet. Can we talk in the commissary?”  
  
“If you’re all right with that. We have attorney-client confidentiality,” she said, darting Rodney a look, “but I understand you two have an arrangement.”  
  
Was that what the Air Force was calling it these days?  
  
“Actually,” Rodney said, “we would like to set a new legal precedent.”  
  
John blinked. “We would?”  
  
“We would like to be registered as a Match.”  
  
Major Cartwright, whose Mark was obvious on the back of her right hand and looked like a stylized eye, blinked. “Legally, the Unmarked cannot enter into a Match.” That she said _Unmarked_ without a shudder or a flinch was in her favor.  
  
“If our Marks match, then we’re a Match,” Rodney said. “Can you make that happen?”  
  
“I’d have to do more research on the matter,” she said, which was such a lawyer answer, but Rodney had just thrown her a curveball.  
  
“I have private counsel on retainer,” John said, “if you’d like to consult with them.”  
  
“If you give me their contact information, I can get right on that.” Major Cartwright started to say more, and then John’s stomach growled.  
  
“So,” he said, “food.”  
  
“Of course, sir.”  
  
Breaking her of the formalities of rank was going to be, John suspected, a fruitless endeavor, so he and Rodney led her to the commissary. She seemed to know the way on her own, and other personnel nodded at her and smiled at her, familiar with her.  
  
“Are JAG officers stationed regularly under the Mountain?” John asked.  
  
“No, sir. I’m on SG-17,” she said. “I trained in negotiation, mediation, and arbitration in law school, so I do a lot of work on treaties.”  
  
Rodney frowned. “Do you have much experience in family law?”  
  
She smiled wryly. “Too much, frankly. I was a law guardian before I took my commission. Some days I think the worst monsters I’ve ever seen were here on Earth.”   
  
In the commissary, Cartwright scooped up a tray, and the kitchen staff smiled at her, asked her how her day was, how her cat was, and told her what was for dessert without her having to ask. Rodney had to inquire about the citrus-free status of the food, and then the three of them found a table in the back corner so they had some measure of privacy while they spoke.  
  
“Here’s the first thing you need to know, Colonel,” Cartwright said, twirling pasta onto her fork and using a spoon to stop the pasta from falling off the end of the fork. “You’re not going to be able to meet your son right away.”  
  
John frowned. “Why not? He’s five years old. He doesn’t even know me –"  
  
“Precisely. Your introduction to him will require therapeutic intervention. He doesn’t know you. Someone will need to explain to him that he has another father – because he probably has some other male who he is securely attached to as a father figure.” Cartwright sprinkled some pepper on her pasta.  
  
John narrowed his eyes. That sounded an awful lot like psychobabble. As much as he respected Heightmeyer, his son was an ordinary child, not a PTSD-stricken veteran. “That was all a lie. He’s my son. They worked deliberately to hide him from me.”  
  
“I know.” Cartwright met his gaze, and there it was, that steely determination. “I’ve pulled the records. What your brother and ex-wife did was deplorable. But the fact remains is that he doesn’t know you and you cannot just go striding into his life and declaring yourself his father. He may be a bright and resilient child, but his sense of safety is based on the fact that his world is a known quantity, is predictable. How did you feel the first time you found out about the Stargates? That everything you knew about the world and science was wrong? That your whole planet had nearly been destroyed multiple times over and no one had told you? Not so safe, right?”  
  
“I was fascinated by the concept of stable wormholes,” Rodney said.  
  
Cartwright shrugged. “You’re an adult and a scientist. We’re talking about taking a five-year-old boy and destroying his world, telling him his father isn’t really his father, that his mother and beloved Uncle lied to him.”  
  
“We’d be telling him the truth,” John protested.  
  
“I’m not saying he shouldn’t learn the truth. I’m saying there’s a way to tell it to him that won’t completely destroy his sense of safety in the world. Before we can figure out what way that is, he’ll need to be assessed by an expert, you’ll need to be assessed, and you’ll both probably have to go through some counseling before you can even make contact.” Cartwright continued twirling her pasta like an expert. Half of it was gone. How had she even eaten it, with all the talking she’d been doing?  
  
“Why?” John could feel frustration mounting. He had a son, his own flesh and blood, someone he was supposed to have been loving and protecting all this time.  
  
“What will you say when you first see him?”  
  
That was obvious. “That I’m his father and I love him.”  
  
“And when he asks you where you’ve been all this time?”  
  
“I was away being a soldier.”  
  
“And you didn’t have time for him?”  
  
“I didn’t know about him.”  
  
“Why didn’t you know about him?”  
  
“Because his mother and his uncle didn’t tell me about him.”  
  
“Are you calling Mommy and Uncle Dave liars?”  
  
“If the shoe fits,” Rodney muttered.  
  
Cartwright shook her head. “No. It’s just like in a divorce. No parent or caregiver can speak ill of any other. It’s not fair to the child.”  
  
“What they did, cutting me out, wasn’t fair to him either,” John said.  
  
“No, it wasn’t. But if you tell him his mother’s a liar, you’re telling him he’s a liar too. He’s half his mother.” Cartwright continued eating, and John sat back. Processed.  
  
“We should talk to Dr. Heightmeyer,” Rodney said, and for him to say that, given his disdain of the soft sciences, spoke volumes about his distrust for Cartwright’s opinion.  
  
“Do that,” Cartwright said.   
  
John shook his head, disgusted. “This is going to take forever, isn’t it? Nothing is going to get resolved for months and months.”  
  
“Litigation takes more time than television would have people believe.”  
  
John thought of all the time he’d be spending off-world, how unpredictable his schedule would be. It would be impossible to make court dates and therapy appointments. He’d have turned Atlantis down flat if he’d known about his son. Would he have gone after Holland if he’d known about his son? What was he willing to give up for his son, this child he’d never met? He glanced at Rodney out of the corner of his eye. Rodney was eyeing Cartwright with distaste; she was utterly unfazed, had moved on to her dessert.  
  
“By the way.” She reached into her pocket, drew out a business card and a flash drive. “Send me the contact information for your private counsel. I could probably use their help on the Unmarked Match issue. Nancy Sherman had you listed as Jason Sheppard’s father on all his medical, dental, and school records, but listed herself as first contact and your brother as second contact, citing your being deployed overseas, so legally you have access to, well, everything about your son. This was everything I could find on short notice.” She pushed the card and the flash drive across the table. “The first file is his most recent school photo.” She finished her dessert and stood up, lifted her tray with a flair like she’d once been a waitress, and walked away.  
  
John stared at the flash drive, his heart pounding.  
  
“My laptop is in my duffel bag,” Rodney said quietly. “Come on.”  
  
They went back to their shared quarters, and Rodney fired up his laptop, connected the flash drive, opened the folder labeled Jason Sheppard, and clicked on the very first file.  
  
John took one look at the photo, at the little boy with his face, and stood up.  
  
“I’m going to the range. I’ll be back, I promise.” He kissed Rodney on the mouth, grabbed his sidearm, and headed for the firing range.  
  
Even though he was crying as he fired, he still made every shot, because his body knew what to do. When his magazine was empty, he reloaded it, and he fired again, and he reloaded again, and after he’d drained six magazines, he stumbled back to his quarters, crawled into bed beside Rodney, and held him tight as he fell asleep.  
  


*

  
Rodney had expected there to be more of a fight when he accompanied John to court. Major Cartwright, looking downright dashing in her service blues (with a lot more chest candy than simple lawyering would allow), represented John at court alongside Solomon Hartshorn, who was a tiny man with an impeccable suit, beady black eyes, and a knife-sharp intellect. When John stepped into the courtroom, also in full dress blues, Nancy and Grant Sherman watched him warily, but Dave Sheppard couldn’t meet his gaze.  
  
Cartwright must have known her stuff, because Jason Sheppard had his own attorney, a court-appointed guardian ad litem, and the lanky, easy-going Ralph Daniels recommended everything Major Cartwright had predicted: therapeutic assessment and individual treatment, and then a therapist-supervised reintroduction session. Nancy and Grant’s attorney was a woman tinier than Major Cartwright, dark-skinned, with delicate features and a bulldog’s tenacity. She argued fiercely that John had abandoned his son, had failed to show the natural interest of a parent despite Nancy’s efforts to help him know his son, such as listing him as a point of contact on all of Jason’s school and medical records. Solomon Hartshorn argued that Nancy had deliberately kept Jason from John, going so far as to obtain child support from him under the guise of an additional retirement account, carefully labeled so nothing but the closest inspection would reveal it was for Jason and not John, but that she’d failed to ever notify John of Jason’s existence. Nancy’s attorney argued that John had failed to reach out to Nancy, to inquire after her about whether she had a son, failed to take affirmative steps to assert his parental rights, but Cartwright shot that down. She argued that Nancy had committed perjury in the divorce proceedings by failing to disclose that she had a child on the way, and that because of Nancy’s fraudulent behavior John had no reasonable way of knowing he had a son, but as soon as John had learned of his son, he’d taken affirmative steps to assert his parental rights. Rodney was twitching in his seat the entire time, waiting for the issue to come up, for someone to mention that John was Unmarked, that he’d lied to Nancy, but no one said a word about Marks or Matches. John sat bolt upright in his chair, the picture of textbook military posture, and when the hearing was finished, swept out of the courtroom with Cartwright and Hartshorn on his heels.  
  
Dave caught him just outside the massive wooden double doors.  
  
John turned to him. “Yes?”  
  
“I spoke to Bernard O’Hara – my attorney.” Dave swallowed hard. “John, I – how could you never tell me?”  
  
“You wouldn’t have believed me.”  
  
“But with evidence I would have. I do now.”  
  
John looked Dave up and down. “I guess there were things we both should have told each other.”  
  
Dave flinched and stepped back, and John turned away, military sharp, and strode for the doors. John had never looked so much like a soldier, had never looked so much like a stranger.  
  
Nancy’s attorney caught Cartwright and Hartshorn on the steps of the courthouse.   
  
“Naomi,” the tiny attorney said  
  
“Anna.” Cartwright smiled, her expression genuine, friendly. Did they know each other?  
  
“Unrelated to the child welfare matter,” Anna said. “About Ms. Sherman’s medical treatment –"  
  
“As soon as your client signs the necessary documents, treatment can begin. At Walter Reed.” Cartwright clapped Anna on the shoulder. “We should get lunch sometime, catch up.”  
  
Anna nodded and smiled, and when she smiled like that, she didn’t look like a bipedal, furious chihuahua. “Definitely. Thanks. It was good to see you.” She nodded at Hartshorn, John, and Rodney, then hurried to speak to Nancy.  
  
It was Daniel Jackson who escorted Vala Mal Doran to Walter Reed hospital to utilize the Goa’uld hand device on Nancy Sherman three days after that initial hearing, and Evan Lorne, of all people, operated the Ancient medical scanner to help her.  
  
Rodney wasn’t sure what Cartwright or Elizabeth or someone said to Landry, but John was assigned to command SG-4, and his mission schedule somehow always accommodated his court hearings and his therapy appointments. John saw some psychologist who was an expert in parent-child relationships, went to Dr. Robinson twice a week. Dr. Robinson coordinated with Jason Sheppard’s therapist in DC, and after four weeks of therapy, Dr. Robinson and Dr. Bannon agreed that John could be introduced to his son.  
  
Evan was stepping in to command SG-4 while John was gone (simple recon mission, nothing ought to go wrong, but John’s team seemed to be comprised entirely of clumsy morons who were more likely to injure themselves tripping over their own feet than fighting off any Ori or Goa’uld). John was briefing him over dinner before the flight out.  
  
Ronon was sprawled in the chair beside Evan, picking at his food with his hands – he’d learned to eat delicately with his hands, still eschewed silverware whenever possible – and watching John carefully.  
  
“Are you nervous?” he asked.  
  
John nodded. “Of course I am. He’s my son, but he doesn’t even know me. Who knows what he thinks of me?”  
  
“You know his therapist wouldn’t say anything bad about you, and somehow I doubt Nancy would either, at this point.” Rodney rested a hand on John’s knee, offering subtle comfort.  
  
Evan said, “When I was a kid, I’d have given anything to know my father.”  
  
Ronon raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t know your father?”  
  
“He killed himself before I was born.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” John said quietly.  
  
Evan shrugged. “I didn’t find out till I was twelve. I always thought I was the black sheep, you know? The only kid on the commune who liked airplanes and toy soldiers and being an action hero instead of a peaceful protest kind of hero. And then one day I found a box with my dad’s old dogtags. His passport had Vietnam stamps. And his death certificate said suicide. Judging by the contents of his diary, I’m guessing he had a nasty dose of PTSD. But my mother never told me. Said he was just some guy who came to the commune, stuck around long enough to give her my sister and me, and moved on, which was why we had our mother’s last name.”  
  
“Does your mother know you know?” Rodney asked.  
  
Evan reached into his pocket, drew out the little sketchbook he always carried with him, and flipped it open. Inside the back cover was a set of dog tags for Lorne, Alexander Evan. “Mom wasn’t always a hippy. She did the traditional thing, married my dad, settled down, and when he – left, she moved us onto the commune with Grandma, and she never looked back. But when I left for basic, she gave me my travel watercolor kit and these.”   
  
Rodney saw John’s gaze turn distant, introspective. Then he asked, “But didn’t you have a father figure of some sort? A male role model?”  
  
“There were men on the commune who looked out for me, taught me things, cared about me and loved me, but hippies weren’t much into traditional family structure,” Evan said. “In basic I looked up to my COs. I always knew I had a place in my life for a father, and it was empty, because he was gone or dead.”  
  
By all reports, as far as Jason knew, Grant Sherman was his step-father, was the only father figure he’d ever known. The official party line was that Nancy had believed John was MIA (not an entirely terrible argument, given the first year of the Expedition), and now that everyone knew he was back, Jason got to meet him. At least Jason had been aware that Grant Sherman was only his step-father, because Jason had been Jason Sheppard since birth.  
  
“And if your father had shown up one day, would you have felt – upset? Afraid? Betrayed?”  
  
“I don’t know. But sir,” Evan said, “I’ve seen how much you care about everyone under your command, everyone you’re charged with keeping safe. If you channel even a tenth of that into your relationship with your son, nothing in the universe will ever hurt that child.”  
  
Rodney would have hugged Evan right then, because John actually smiled and started eating his food instead of just pushing it around on his plate. And then the briefing began in earnest, John warning Evan about his teammates and their seemingly miraculous ability to accrue injury on even the safest of missions.  
  
Rodney flew with John to DC and spent hours wandering around the Smithsonian while John went to meet his son. Rodney was wandering through the Air and Space museum, amusing himself by all of the information displays that were just terribly wrong, when his cell phone buzzed.  
  
 _Meeting done. Come back to the hotel._  
  
John was sitting on the edge of the bed, face buried in his hands.  
  
Rodney rushed to his side. “What happened? Are you all right?”  
  
John lifted his head, and his face was wet with tears, but he was smiling. “The first thing he said was, ‘You look like me’.”  
  
Relief flooded Rodney’s limbs. “How did it go?”  
  
“He’s amazing, Rodney. Bright and smart and quick and strong. Friendly. Brave. We played games and we had a snack and drew pictures and – and at the end, he hugged me, and he said, ‘When I grow up, Grandpa wants me to be a businessman, but I want to be a fighter pilot.’” John choked, and Rodney rubbed his back soothingly.   
  
“Can you go on?”  
  
John swallowed. “Yeah. I – I asked him, ‘What gave you that idea?’ and he said, ‘Uncle Dave lets me watch Top Gun’.” He reached out and grasped Rodney’s hands in his, eyes shining with awe. “Rodney, he was _my son._ I could see so much of me in him.”  
  
Rodney was pretty sure some of that was John projecting or wishful thinking, but this was the first time John had smiled, really smiled, in weeks, so Rodney kept his doubts to himself.  
  
“I could see Nancy too, of course, the way he insisted everything be fair and equal, and the way he got all huffy when I asked if he was a charmer with the ladies but didn’t ask if he was a charmer with the gentlemen, too.” John laughed, and he looked so utterly delighted that Rodney had to lean in and kiss him, and when they made love that night, it was full of laughter and smiles, and the cold terror that had settled itself in the pit of Rodney’s stomach finally dissipated.  
  
They were out to dinner with Elizabeth, Carson, Evan, and Ronon, trading stories about their time on Earth. Elizabeth was working on her memoirs. Carson had adopted some pet turtles. Ronon had gone to visit the commune where Evan grew up, and despite him unabashedly being his gruff warrior self, everyone on the commune loved him for no reason that Evan could fathom, and Evan admitted he was jealous. Elizabeth was the only one who wasn’t up to speed on the details of the Unmarked and Jason, and she listened with rapt attention as John described his latest visit with his son.  
  
“What’s the plan long-term?” Elizabeth asked. “You can’t keep flying out there every weekend, can you?”  
  
John glanced at Rodney. They’d talked about this over and over again, hadn’t come to any conclusions. Before the pleasant reunion dinner could turn into a domestic dispute, someone’s cell phone rang. And then another, and another. Ronon was still baffled by cell phones, was the last to answer his. When Elizabeth answered hers, Rodney glimpsed the name of the caller on her screen. NORAD. John’s said The Mountain. Evan’s said, simply Work. Ronon’s said Shy Anne. (Evan was working on his spelling. There was a reason Ronon’s paperwork was so sparse.) Rodney’s read Bluebook.  
  
The other diners cast them dirty looks.  
  
“I didn’t bring my mobile,” Carson said unhappily.  
  
Elizabeth stood up. John and Evan rose automatically, well-mannered as they were.  
  
“We need to get to the base,” Elizabeth said.  
  
They all tore into their wallets, threw down cash, and abandoned their meal.  
  
Back at the Mountain, General Landry showed them the databurst from Atlantis. Replicators had attacked. Took out the Ancients. O’Neill and Woolsey were the only survivors. John got that look on his face, a look Rodney hadn’t seen in a long time.  
  
“Sir, I know Atlantis like the back of my hand,” John said. “Give me sixty marines and some ARGs and –"  
  
Landry had standing orders from O’Neill himself. In case of foothold, nuke Atlantis. The horror on Elizabeth’s face reflected what everyone else in the briefing room was feeling, but Landry dismissed them summarily.  
  
“What’s the plan?” Ronon asked John as soon as they were out of Landry’s earshot.  
  
Rodney’s mind spun. He’d written a backdoor into the gate shield after the Genii incursion in the first year of the Expedition. He could rewrite the Intergalactic Bridge macro to spit them out somewhere other than Atlantis in Pegasus, like Teyla’s new Athosian settlement. They needed ARGs and a jumper and access to the iris and the gate room.  
  
Bill Lee was the head of the jumper program right now, and he had access to the jumper storage room. Elizabeth did an admirable job pretending to be a World of Warcraft enthusiast and flirting with Bill while Rodney reprogrammed the keycard system so he could use his card to enter the jumper storage bay. Once that was done, they ran to the armory to grab gear, and their last stop was the jumper bay. On the way to the bay, they ran into Wallace, one of John’s clumsy and injured SG-4 comrades, who looked hurt at the notion of John going on a mission without him. Rodney’s heart was racing, adrenaline burning through him like alcohol, like lust. This was what he’d missed all these weeks, the thrill of being a team.  
  
And he’d missed Atlantis. They’d be going home.  
  
Ronon zapped Wallace with his stunner, and he and Evan stashed his unconscious form in a storage closet. And then Ronon whipped around and blasted John with his stunner too.  
  
“What the hell?” Rodney demanded, but Evan was stripping John of his tac vest, giving his spare ammo to Ronon.  
  
Evan caught Rodney’s gaze, held it. “I know Atlantis just as well as Sheppard, and I have the gene. She’ll listen to me in a pinch, I’m sure of it. I can handle command of this mission. But Sheppard – he has his boy to think about. He has to stay here.”  
  
Rodney hadn’t thought of Jason for one second, not since his cell phone rang. He gazed down at John’s sleeping form and wondered what, if anything, John had thought about Jason in all this.  
  
“Atlantis needs us all,” Rodney began.  
  
“Okay,” Ronon said, and holstered his blaster. “Let’s go.”  
  
Rodney looked down at John, remembered a now-distant conversation.  
  
 _I’d give up command of Atlantis and gate travel and my commission and my wings before I’d give you up._  
  
“John needs me more,” Rodney said, and Ronon whipped out his blaster and fired.  
  
As Rodney toppled to the ground, he heard Evan say, “Zelenka, here, take Rodney’s gear. Cadman, you take Sheppard’s.”  
  


*

  
When John opened his eyes, he was lying in the infirmary. His whole body ached, his mouth was dry, and his head was throbbing with the familiar aftershocks of being stunned by an alien weapon.  
  
“Good news,” Major Cartwright said. She was sitting beside his cot. “You’re not getting court-martialed. You tried to prevent Major Lorne from disobeying General Landry’s direct orders, after all.”  
  
John blinked. “Rodney?”  
  
“He’s fine. Still passed out, though. Doesn’t handle stunning as well as you do.” Cartwright leaned in, peered at him. “Bad news is, now you look like a faithless coward, because Major Lorne kicked ass and took names and rescued Woolsey and General O’Neill, and Zelenka helped take down the Replicators. Atlantis is ours again.”  
  
“So you have a choice to make,” General Landry said. “Are you going back to Atlantis?”  
  
Rodney said, “No. No, we have things on Earth we’re responsible for, and we need to stay here.”  
  
“Rodney,” John began, but Rodney reached between the cots and caught John’s hand in his, squeezed.   
  
“We have family here we didn’t have before,” Rodney said, and it was all John could do not to haul Rodney onto the same cot as him and kiss him breathless.  
  
Cartwright beamed, dropped a legal document on John’s empty food tray. “Great! How do you feel about going on record as the first Unmarked to be declared part of a Match?”


End file.
